Sunnyside (a Sebastian Stan story)

Making The Headlines

     I slid down the frame of the front door, and sat there, my legs at awkward angles, and tried to gulp in air. Had Sebastian just walked out on me? No. That couldn't be right. I shook my head violently, but all that did was break down the dam holding back tears. They started flowing freely as I picked myself up off the ground. Shakily, I made my way back into the house, my hands trembling as I raked my fingers through my hair. I needed to sit down, to collapse somewhere, and the couch was only a few steps from the door.

     I crashed to the cushions, wishing, as I fell towards them, that I would wake up and find that I'd been dreaming. Praying to anyone that would listen to let me open my eyes and find myself in my office, having dozed off in front of my computer. That I would catch my breath and call Sebastian and he would reassure me that he would never walk out that way, that my mind was being cruel. But as my sobs soaked the pillow underneath my head, I became more and more certain that there would be no waking up.

     The house around me was too silent. The air was too cold. I clutched at my chest and writhed dramatically, and then felt a little foolish. I pulled myself upright and looked around, drying my tears on the hem of my sweater. There was an emptiness to the place that I never expected I'd ever feel. All the curtains were closed, the counter cleared of Sebastian's usual small pile of mail and newspaper. The heat had probably been turned down, because he always kept it warmer than it was at that moment. He was really gone. And I had, apparently, done something to drive him away. My chest tightened again at the thought, and the panic came in a wave again.

     I felt nauseated, if it was possible, in every part of my body. Weak, and tense, and jittery. I concentrated on my breathing, and I pulled my phone out, shaking as I dialed Sebastian's number. It rang twice, and then it went to his voicemail. He had dismissed my call. I choked out the words, "Seb? Tell me what happened, please? I can't...I don't know what to do." I hung up before I sobbed into the phone. Tears fell again, fat and heavy down my face. No sense in holding them back, now that it had become clear Sebastian wasn't in the mood to talk. I flopped back down onto the sofa, curling myself around a pillow, remembering the first time I had woken up there with him curled around me, and I sobbed until my throat was on fire, and I fell asleep.

     I don't know how long I dozed. It wasn't long, but it didn't really matter. It could have been thirty minutes, it could have been a year. What mattered was Sebastian was still gone when I woke. His house still empty and silent, and the pillow still wet under my face. I didn't even know what I was still doing there. He had told me to lock up when I Ieft, and that's what I should have been doing. But I couldn't. Not yet. I walked slowly up the stairs, and stared sadly into his bedroom. Here too, the curtains were drawn. The hazy light from the autumn world outside bled in around the edges, painting the room in forlorn shades of gray and silver. I forced myself to turn away. I went down the hall, flipped on the light in his spare bedroom slash office, glanced in, and flipped it off again. The dog's crate was gone, her toys piled neatly into her little bed under the window.

     I could hardly wrap my head around the emptiness of it all. I forced myself back down the stairs, through the living room, into the kitchen. I was standing there, turning in a slow circle, when my eyes fell on something out of place on the little table in the dining area. Something that looked very much like it had been abandoned in a moment, and not bothered with again. Or maybe...run away from? A plate, filled with crumbs, an empty glass, and an open magazine. I took a hesitant step. Then another.

     My phone buzzed, and I pulled it to my ear, distractedly. "Hello?"

     Another step, and another, and I was reaching for the magazine. My eyes went wide and I felt the world tilt under my feet.

     "Winnie, oh my god," Isabel cried into my ear. "You need to see. It's Sam's magazine. She-"

     I cut her off. "I just found it."

     I screamed as I tore at the pages.

                                     ****

     A handwritten note, with Seb's scribbly script and several X's and O's that I'd never seen before graced a glossy magazine page. It was on a card that matched the others I'd discovered while unpacking.  A picture of us, asleep together on the couch, slightly grainy from Isabel's unsteady hand was situated opposite of that. Grabbed from her cell when she'd left Sam alone with her phone, no doubt. Sebastian had thought I'd given those things to Sam.

     I vomited twice once I had finally made my way home. How had she managed to get any of that printed without my permission? The bright pink headline hovering over it all made my insides turn. "Maid For Each Other: Winnie Hopkins spills about snagging (and shagging!) Sebastian Stan". I cried myself to sleep at four pm.

                                ****

     Isabel sent Bonnie to my place. I didn't even know they'd exchanged numbers until Bonnie was ringing up to be let in. It was the day after Seb had left. I didn't go back to the office. I called Barry and told him, again, to handle things. Then I'd fallen back into a tearful sleep, not even bothering to take off my sweater or my jeans from the day before. I hadn't planned on leaving my bed ever again, but the intercom was insistent, and I had finally gotten up to send the elevator down for Bonnie, and then collapsed on the couch.

     The doors hadn't even opened all the way and she was rushing out, crossing the room quickly and gathering me into her arms. She smoothed my hair away from my face and took in my puffy, tear-stained face. "Oh, dear girl. What are we going to do about this mess, hmm?" She clucked at me as she pulled me close again.

     "I didn't tell her she could write any of that. I didn't give her that picture, or that note, and I never gave her permission, and I thought I could trust her, and," I rushed to get it all out.

     Bonnie hushed me. "Shh. We're going to work it out. We're going to get it all sorted." She rocked me back and forth slightly as I calmed myself.

     "What do I do?" I clutched at Bonnie's blouse, like it was keeping me afloat. It was probably designer, and I was blubbering into it and wrinkling it, and Bonnie didn't even notice. She had started planning.

     "You march into that bathroom and wash your face while I make you a snack. And I won't hear any arguments. That's step one. Step two is getting that bitch on the phone."